There's Only So Much Road
by RCB
Summary: Future!Fic from an OMC's POV. General spoilers for season four.


Title: There's Only So Much Road  
Word Count: 2141  
Characters: Yes, there are some. No pairings.  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Just general spoilers for Season Four.  
Summary: Future!Fic OMC POV

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Mike accepted the offered drink gratefully, and the older man clapped him on the back once before taking the seat across from him. The bar was fairly full for a Tuesday night, the crowd varying wildly in ages. Mike had driven by the place plenty of times, but the run down exterior had prevented him from ever stopping.

It was just a week ago that Mike's preferred evening spot featured decent scotch, a dress code, and maybe, if he was roughing it, sports trivia and and a dart board.

But that was before he'd been attacked. Before his best friend had died and Mike had seen what had killed him.

Yeah, things had changed a lot in the last week.

Bill had friends; he'd introduce them to Mike, if he was serious about learning. Mike had been friends with Steve since kindergarten, had been best man at Steve's wedding, and was the one who had to tell his widow that he was dead.

Mike was deadly serious.

Bill said he was a hunter; he and his friends traveled around and tracked all sorts of nasty things down. The kinds of things that Mike had only dreamed of, and some things that he'd never have imagined.

"Bill," a man with grey hair said, coming over with a beer in each hand.

"David!" Bill's voice was happy, no trace of the gruffness he'd displayed in the brief few days that Mike had known him.

"Just about everybody's here," David informed him, taking one of the empty chairs and turning it backwards before sitting down. He folded his arms over the back and picked up one of the bottles then, taking a long drink.

"Everybody?" Mike asked.

"Who's this?" David asked, eyeing Mike with undisguised suspicion.

"Kind of a greenhorn." Bill explained. "He's okay though. I'll vouch for him."

"Did you…" David didn't finish, and didn't look at Bill when he spoke, either. His eyes were trained on Mike the entire time, like he was waiting for Mike to make one false move. David's steady gaze made Mike nervous, and he resisted the urge to wipe his palms on his jeans. For one thing, they'd just come away muddy, he was covered in cemetery dirt. For another, he certainly wasn't making any sudden moves.

"It's not my first rodeo," Bill retorted, pouring two more shots and wiggling the bottle at David a little.

Seconds ticked by slowly while David continued to size Mike up, and he couldn't help it, he coughed nervously into his hand, and took a drink from his own beer. Dry throat, that's all.

"It's kind of an anniversary." David finally broke the silence.

"An anniversary of what?" Mike asked, and if his voice squeaked a little because an old guy was staring at him, then so what? Old guys can be dangerous, too.

"We're alive." David's voice was flat, and exempt from any kind of celebratory cheer that an anniversary of being alive should command. He drained the first bottle, and set it back down on the table, with a clang.

"Damn straight, we're alive." Bill smiled, and handed Mike a full shot. "Here's to staying that way." Bill said, before tipping it back with what looked to Mike like years of experience.

More people came over to their table, more drinks were shared, more toasts. Thing was, no one ever came right out and said what they were toasting _to_ exactly. Bill had warned Mike that his "people" didn't like strangers asking questions much. At least not right off the bat. He'd advised Mike to keep his mouth shut and listen until they'd warmed up to him. After that, Bill said, Mike would have a hard time shutting them up. Hunters like to brag a little at times, and tonight they'd be itching to tell Mike all sorts of useful stories.

It was nearly eleven o'clock before David stopped looking at him with mistrust. After midnight, he finally addressed David in a way that could almost be considered friendly. Sometime after that, he even bought Mike a round and regaled him with the best way to take down a vampire.

"Gordon was the best at hunting vampires," a man interrupted. Mike had been introduced, but he couldn't remember his name now. Too much booze, too many new faces.

"Gordon Walker was batshit crazy. Elkins." David stated. "_He_ was the best."

Murmurs of assent went through the small crowd.

"Where was I?" David asked, his voice had just the slightest slur to it even though he'd had three times as much to drink as Mike had.

"Dead man's blood," Mike prompted, proud of himself that he wasn't too drunk that he couldn't pay attention. It's not like there was a school teaching this stuff, and it seemed to him that meetings of this kind were rare. Most everyone acted as if they hadn't seen each other in years, like old soldiers returning home from battle to see who else had survived.

"Right," David nodded. "So you got-"

Something over Mike's shoulder drew the old man's attention, and Mike turned to see what it was.

A man had walked in, pausing to sweep the room quickly, and then proceeded to head directly to the bar. He was tall, probably had a few inches on Mike, and he had managed to dig a fifty out of his pocket before he even crossed the few feet to the counter. He slapped it down, and the barmaid gave him a look of shock and surprise.

"It can't be," someone whispered.

"Naw, it ain't."

"It's him. I've seen him before."

The man took a seat and the barmaid set down a glass in front of him and an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. She waved his money away, and the man left it sitting on the bar anyway.

"Gotta be him. Never knew her to just give away alcohol." Mike didn't need to look to know that was David, his voice holding a bit of a grudge. Apparently, he'd never been offered the same courtesy.

The man took no notice of anyone at all, just filled the glass to the brim and drained half of it down quickly. He looked to his right, at the empty barstool next to him and his face set into a tense expression. He drained the rest of the glass while he seemed to be lost in thought, staring at the vacant seat.

"Heard his brother-"

"It's been four years, where has he been?"

"Who is it?' Mike finally found his voice.

"Name's Dean Winchester," Bill whispered. "You could say that we're here tonight cos of him."

"And his brother, that's what I heard." Someone whispered.

"So he's a hunter?" Mike asked, still watching the man. He finally quit staring at the empty seat and had his attention on a cell phone now. After looking at it a few seconds, he tucked it back into his coat pocket and ran a hand through his short sandy hair.

"Heh, oh yeah. He's a hunter. Raised up in it since he was a small child." David's voice was almost reverent.

"And he has a brother?" Mike asked.

"Had. That's how I heard it." Mike looked for the owner of the voice, but everyone had fallen silent again, shifting glances at everything except the man at the bar.

"I heard that his brother- well, that was some seriously messed up shit."

Mike looked back at Dean again. He seemed kind of lost, anxious. Maybe Steve wasn't his brother, but he could somewhat relate. He started to get up.

"You don't wanna do that." Someone said, maybe David, Mike wasn't sure. The minute he stood up, he was suddenly a lot drunker than when he was sitting down.

Emboldened by liquid courage, Mike ignored the whispered warnings and went over to Dean, taking the seat that he'd been staring at earlier.

"That seat's taken," Dean said at once, not bothering to even look at Mike. His eyes were face forward, and the barmaid, Mike thought her name was Jo, looked nervous.

"I'm not staying. I..uh..wanted to say thanks." Mike stammered. Thanks? He didn't even know what for exactly. But this guy was a hunter, same as the rest, and he'd lost his brother. Whatever they were celebrating, whatever anniversary this was, it seemed pretty certain that this Dean guy was at the heart of it.

"Thanks." Dean repeated, turning to look at him. Mike noticed that he had a small scar, close to his hairline, and about five days worth of stubble on his face. Blood shot eyes from either too much to drink or not enough sleep, maybe both, Mike wasn't sure.

Dean started to laugh, a small dry chuckle. "Well, you're welcome. Or whatever. Now get out of my brother's chair."

Mike looked around; there wasn't anyone else around.

"Move it," Dean barked and Mike jumped up at once. "Jo, you got anything imported back there for Sam? He likes that weird shit." Dean grumbled. Jo's face followed the same trail that Mike's had and upon seeing no one, looked back at Dean with an expression of pity. "Yeah, sure Dean," she said quietly, and set a bottle in front of the empty space at the bar.

"You're not a hunter." Dean stated without turning to look at Mike, who was just standing there, not sure what to do.

"No sir." Mike replied immediately. "I'm, um, learning the ropes."

"My father was 'Sir'," Dean went on, seeming to be annoyed. "You sayin' I'm old, kid?"

"No sir," Mike blurted out, and mentally kicked himself for being an absolute idiot.

"Unfreakingbelievable." Dean grumbled and poured himself another shot. "Are you sure you're even old enough to drink?" he asked Mike in a demanding tone as he reached over and grabbed another glass.

"Yes s-" Mike caught himself just in time, and Dean gave him a raised eyebrow in warning. "Yes. I'm twenty two."

"Twenty two." For some reason the hunter seemed even more annoyed.

"Well, sit down," Dean ordered gruffly, and Mike walked around and took the seat on the other side. He heard a flurry of whispers on the other side of the room, which he ignored. If this guy was as great as they seemed to think he was, he'd just struck gold in the hunting story department.

That is, if the guy wasn't completely insane. Which, considering he'd just saved a seat and ordered a beer for his dead brother….

"You hear that Sammy? Kid wants to learn the ropes." Dean said loudly and okay, there was confirmation on the mental status.

"All I heard was that you were old," Mike heard behind him and he whirled around in the direction the voice had come from. The hunters were staring in their direction wide eyed, and a man with a cane was standing there, grinning wide.

If Dean had a few inches on Mike, this guy had a lot more.

Sam walked around, a limp, but not so bad that he'd had a lot of trouble walking, and got into the bar stool that Dean had saved for him. "Corner's easier," Sam commented.

"I know this," Dean stated. "Got you a crappy beer, too. What took you so long?"

"Wanted to call Bobby. It was time," Sam said and Mike noticed the bar maid staring at Sam with her mouth open.

"Hi, Jo." Sam smiled, eyes crinkling as if he enjoyed the shock she was experiencing.

"Sam." Jo whispered and seemed to be blinking back tears. "My Mom said-"

"I was kind of laid up for awhile. That's all," Sam said and Mike noticed a flicker of something cross over Dean's face. Apparently so did Sam, because he quickly added, "It wasn't that bad. I'm pretty good now."

"Now?" Mike asked and immediately regretted it when Dean looked at him. He looked so horribly guilty that Mike wished for instant sobriety so he would stop messing up.

"I had an accident. It wasn't anyone's fault," Sam answered Mike but looked at Dean when he said it.

Dean just pressed his lips together tightly and looked straight ahead, glass in his hand like he was lost in thought again. Whatever Dean was thinking about was soon interrupted. The hunters had finally worked up the nerve to come over.

"Dean. Sam." David was the first to say anything. "You probably don't remember me, but I knew your father."

"David Courlen." Dean stated and held out his hand. "Of course I remember you."

David smiled back, and the two lost hunters were suddenly surrounded. Everyone was fighting to get close, to either introduce themselves, or reintroduce themselves.

"It's good to see you. _Both_ of you."

"Glad to see you on the mend Sam."

"Good to see your faces again."

"Jo, I need to buy these two a drink."

"You boys did good. Real good. Your father would be proud."

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End file.
